The youngest son of Anglesea, the once idealistic Henry has survived the Holy Pilgrimage, but lost all his deeply held beliefs in honor and nobility. Captured in battle, he is sold as a slave into the home of Alif Al-Rasheed, a wealthy Genovese merchant who has converted to Islam. Bereft of faith, imprisoned in a foreign land, Henry has lost hope in his ability to love again—until he lays eyes on his captor’s beguiling daughter.

A marriage of opposites . . .

To Henry, Alya is a beacon of beauty he cannot ignore. But the heart of this proud daughter of Cairo will not be won so easily. Divided by religion, language, and culture, Ayla has little in common with the disillusioned Englishman—and yet he has vowed to protect her life in exchange for his freedom. As they embark on a perilous journey to safety, their bond will grow—and be tested—in ways neither can anticipate. For their greatest challenges will arise where Henry least expects. With threats conspiring to divide them, will he find the strength to stand by Ayla—and together will they find a common ground on which to build a future?
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A mix of dust, goat, and spices of a hundred evening cook fires infused the air. Cumin, coriander, and cinnamon twined together and made English’s mouth water. Sunset splashed the sky above Cairo in burnt orange, growing brighter closer to the fiery ball sinking behind the soaring minaret. He tried to remember the name of that mosque, but his head didn’t work like it used to.After herding a small flock of goats into their pens for the night, he ended his working day with the soft click of the latch.From the city beyond the walls came the wail of amuezzincalling the faithful to prayer. “Allah is great; Allah is great.”The inner courtyard emptied as people sought their prayer mats. “I bear witness that there is no divinity but Allah.”Englishborewitnesstonodivinity,andhedidnotpray.Atonetime,in another land and to another god, he might have.Drawn to the heat the stones gathered during the day, he pressed his aching back to the wall and waited.Like him, she did notpray.The girl on the wall. He knew her name as Alya, had heard it called often enough, but to him she remained the girl on thewall.Curtains fluttered at the open doorway on the roof balcony. Here she came. For certain, she remained unaware of him concealed in the deepeningshadowsandwatching.Tobecaughtwithhiseyesonhernow would mean Bahir and his whip. Still he waited, would not move from this spot until he sawher.There. A slim figure shrouded by herhijab.The girl on the wall stopped at the parapet and faced the street. Shepushedasidetheniqab,whichconcealedallbuthereyes.Then,shelifted her hijab and shook her hair free. It spilled down her back as she raised her face in a silent blessing to the day that passed. Dying sunlight rushed to pay tribute to her loveliness. Her hair dark and lustrous as the woodof the wild cherry that grew in a thicket he had once walked, her skin like crushed almonds.Not that he could see from this distance, but her eyes aboveherniqab werelighterthanhewouldhaveexpected.Amixofgreenandbrownthat he had only glimpsed in passing before she hastily lowered herhead.Hewouldn’tcallherbeautifulinthewayofotherwomennowhazyinhis mind.Herchinheldtoofirmajut,hernoseslightlyhawk-like.Thestrongslashofhercheekbonesboretestamenttohermixedblood.Shehada strongface,fascinating,andinherprivatemomentontherooftopher elementalfiredrewhimlikeastarvingmantoafeast.Herveryessence calledtothatbarelylivingpartofhimthatrememberedlifeinabundance. Inhereveningritual,shediscardedthemodestysheshowedduringtheday.Shebelievedtherestofthehouseholdtobeatprayerandinthese forbidden moments before she would be called in, or admonishedbythe olderwomanwhoalwaysaccompaniedher,Englishbecameamanagain.* * * *“Come in, Alya.” Nasira beckoned from beyond the curtains. The old womanknewAlyawellenoughtoendherprayersearlyanddragherback inside before anyone else sawher.Creases onNasira’scraggy features meant another lecture on theway.As Alya reached the point on the rooftop garden where her hoarse whisper could be heard Nasira started.“Youshow your face like a street woman.” Nasira shook her head. “What will people think when they see you likeso?”“Nobodyseesme.”Alyapushedthegauzycurtainsaside.Astiffening evening breeze sent them dancing aroundher.“I only do it when nobody else is about.”“Somebody is always about.” Grabbing a brush, Nasira motioned for Alya to sit. “Especially now.”“Why especially now?” Nasira’s tone gave Alya pause. She tried to turn and look at her.Nasira rapped her on the head with her brush. “Stay still. Your father has called for you to attend him after prayers.”“He did?” They always ate the evening meal together.Huge frown creasing her brows, Nasira nodded. “There has been trouble,habibti. In thesuqtoday.”Trouble in the suq hardly deserved the look of doom Nasira’s face. Trouble blew perpetually through the suq. One merchant squabbled with another, buyers quibbled over prices, and the constant thieves threaded through the place like snakes, always looking for the chance to strike. “What happened?”“I will let your father tell you, but it is bad. Bad.” Nasira lowered her head in obeisance.“Enna lillah wa enna elaihe Rajioun.”“Didsomeonedie?”Alyaswungaboutonthestool,wincingasNasira’shold on her hair tugged at the roots.“You ask too many questions.” Nasira grabbed her shoulders and turned her about again. “Your father will tell you all you need to know.”Her nurse should know better than to think she would leave it there. “But someone did die?”“Come.” Nasira bustled to her clothing and grabbed a fresh tunic. “I sent the boy for water, you must wash and attend your father.”A new tunic meant the news her father bore wasweighty.She washed and dressed quickly, flinging her veil over her shoulder as she trottedout of her chamber and down the stairs to the small, inner courtyard shaded on one end, where her father and she shared their evening meals. The table lay set for their meal but her father sat beside a small pond, staring into thewater.His skin was so darkened by the sun, a stranger could never tell he had not been born in this land, but had come from somewhere beyond the sea. “Alya.” Holding his hands out, he smiled and drew her forward for akiss on both cheeks. “Nasira tells me you have been on the roof again.” “The sunset was particularly beautiful today.” She could always getaround him with a bit of teasing. He smelled as he always did of silk and spices, and fruit tobacco from hishookah.Tonight, he turned from her and went back to his study of the pool. “You need to be careful, Alya.”“What happened in the suq?” Father dressed, ate, spoke, acted and evenprayedasasonofthisland,buthehadraisedherdifferently.Nasira warnedhisindulgenceofherwouldcometonogood,butAlyahadalways been encouraged to speak openly with herfather.“A merchant was killed.” Father trailed his fingers through the water. Flashes of light glimmered beneath the surface as fish darted away from him. “A foreign merchant. He was murdered.”“Why?”Alyasanktothelowstonelipofthepond.Herfatheractednotashimselfthisevening.Dreadprickledacrossherskinandsunkdeepinto herbelly.“What are you not tellingme?”“The tension between the local merchants and the foreigners grows worse.” With a sigh, he sat beside her and rubbed the back of his neck. “And the Sultan does nothing to aid the foreigners. What, with the same battle taking place in his palace, his hands are tied.”“But why?”“Youknowwhy?”Fatherlookedupather.Shehadhereyesfromhim, a mix of green and brown that marked them clearly as not fromhere.Alya nodded, she did know why. “The army of unbelievers.”Evennow,yearsaftertheNilehadrisenandforcedtheinvaderstoflee, the distrust lingered.“You must be more careful than ever.” Father captured her hand and squeezed. “Eyes are everywhere and looking for a way to discredit us.”When dripped with venom from the wrong tongue, her simple act of freedom on the walls at sunset could take on the worst of connotations. She nodded. “I will be more careful.”“Let us enjoy our dinner.” Father smiled but the worry lingered.“And then I must seeBahir.”

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Born British and raised in South Africa, Sarah Hegger suffers from an incurable case of wanderlust. Her match? A Canadian engineer, whose marriage proposal she accepted six short weeks after they first met. Together they’ve made homes in seven different cities across three different continents (and back again once or twice). If only it made her multilingual, but the best she can manage is idiosyncratic English, fluent Afrikaans, conversant Russian, pigeon Portuguese, even worse Zulu and enough French to get herself into trouble. Mimicking her globetrotting adventures, Sarah’s career path began as a gainfully employed actress, drifted into public relations, settled a moment in advertising, and eventually took root in the fertile soil of her first love, writing. She also moonlights as a wife and mother. She currently lives in Colorado with her teenage daughters, two Golden Retrievers and aforementioned husband. Part footloose buccaneer, part quixotic observer of life, Sarah’s restless heart is most content when reading or writing books.